


Unplanned Absence

by PinkHighlighter



Series: North Pole Drama [1]
Category: Santa Clause (Movies)
Genre: And Jack Frost is a manipulative jerk., Angst, Bernard is stressed out, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkHighlighter/pseuds/PinkHighlighter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At around the time Santa and Carol announce that they're expecting a baby, Bernard goes missing and Curtis takes over as Head Elf. All indications are that Bernard left by choice, but did he? This is just my take on why Bernard wasn't in TSC3, and takes place before the events of the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Temper, Temper

**Author's Note:**

> Bernard wasn't in 'The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause'! Well, no, that's not exactly true. He was in the novel based on the movie, and I read somewhere that he was meant to be in the movie, but his part was written out due to scheduling conflicts with the actor, David Krumholtz. I've read the book, and I like it much better than the movie (for obvious reasons), but I didn't like the fact that Jack Frost was never redeemed in the book. If Jack's heart was thawed and he kept his wintery powers, he could have turned out to be a powerful ally. So, this is based on the movie. I really feel like Bernard got a raw deal, and is my take on why he was nowhere to be seen.

"Silver bells and burnt gingerbread!  Allison, are you _physically unable_ to carry something without breaking it?!" bellowed the Head Elf in an echoing voice that halted all activity in the area.

  
    Bernard wasn't sure if it was the pounding headache that made him lose his temper, or if it was the burn blister on the roof of his mouth from his eighth cup of cocoa.  It might have been the dollhouse avalanche on floor three, or it could have been the nagging ache in his lumbar region.  Whatever it was that put him in such a foul humor, he knew as soon as these words left his mouth that he had crossed the line.  

  
    The short female elf who knelt at his feet, frantically picking up shards of porcelain, grew very red in the face.  Her lower lip began to tremble, and she hardly seemed to realize that she'd cut her finger on one of the pieces.

  
   _Oh no,_ thought Bernard.  "Allison, I didn't mean--"

  
    This was as far as he got before she dropped the pieces and fled, sobbing, from the room.  

  
    Curtis adjusted his spectacles as he glared at Bernard.  "Don't you think that was a little harsh?  _One_ broken figurine won't ruin Christmas."

  
   _Ah, the Keeper of the Handbook has spoken._   "Just get a broom and sweep this up, Curtis."  

  
    Bernard left the room at a jog, limping a bit from an old, long-healed injury and painfully conscious of the many reproachful frowns directed at his back as he followed Allison.  Every now and then a drop of blood marked her path, and he wondered just how badly she had hurt herself.  She was new, if he remembered correctly.  As mistakes go, breaking a figurine was a minor one indeed.  It was certainly nothing when compared to the toppling of an entire pallet of dollhouses!

  
    Finally he found her sitting on the steps outside.  She sniffled as she tried unsuccessfully to pick a shard of porcelain from the pad of her finger.  Her nails were short, probably because she bit them, and she couldn't quite seem to grasp the splinter.  "Are you all right?"

  
    Allison startled guiltily and her watery blue eyes flicked briefly up to his face before she looked away again and nodded.  "Y-yeah.  I'm so, so sorry!  I didn't mean--"

  
    He folded his hands behind his back and leaned forward a bit, craning his neck for a better look.  "How badly did you cut yourself?"

  
    "I...not bad, I don't think.  I didn't even notice it until someone told me I was bleeding all over the floor.  _Another_ mess.  I don't know why I'm even here..."  She sniffled again and wiped her eyes with the back of her uninjured hand.

  
    Bernard sat down beside her, stifling a groan as his knees popped, and did his best to ignore his growing headache.  "You're here because you were hand-picked by Santa.  Not everyone here was picked by the _same_ Santa, of course; there have been many over the past two millennia, give or take a few centuries.  But you were chosen by one of our _best._ Don't tell me you doubt his judgment!" he gave a little half-smile, trying to cheer her.  He truly did feel terrible about this.  The Elves knew him to be impatient and extremely firm, but he never enjoyed making people cry, particularly the new workers who haven't really found their places yet.

  
    "I don't know," she mumbled, still refusing to look at him.

  
    He sighed.  "Look...you're not gonna hear me say this very often.  This is probably the _only_ time you'll hear me say it.  But I was _wrong._   I shouldn't have yelled at you like that.  Given you a talking-to, maybe, but you didn't deserve to be humiliated like that.  I'm sorry."

  
    Allison finally nodded, but said nothing.  She went back to picking at her finger and hissed in pain.

  
    "No, don't do that.  Come on, I'll walk you to the Elfirmary.  You'll never get that out without tweezers, and Dr. Hismus will probably want to bandage it."

  
    They stood, and Bernard noticed how very small she was compared to him.  The top of her head barely reached his waist.  If it wasn't for the pointed ears and the silver specks on her cheeks, Allison resembled a human child of six, maybe seven years old.  Even though she was probably several hundred years old by now, she was still barely an adult by Elf standards.  Still eager to prove herself, and easily broken.

  
     _Poor kid...I've got to do something about these mood swings._

* * *

  
    "Ah, Bernard!  And..." Dr. Hismus squinted as he tried to remember Allison's name.  "Don't tell me, I remember.  It's...Amanda, right?"

  
    "Allison," she smiled, looking down at her hands.  "I...well..."

  
    Bernard had overseen many a shy Elf in his time, and seeing her falter he chimed in.  "She had a little accident on the pottery floor."

  
    "So I see," the red-haired Elf beckoned with a kind smile.  "Well, Allison, I haven't lost a patient yet!  Let's see that hand."

  
    It occurred to Bernard to ask the good doctor for a bottle of headache medication, but he resisted the temptation.  Allison might innocently mention it back at the workshop, and that wouldn't do at all.  He never liked to show weakness around the other Elves, and he _knew_ Curtis had his eye on the Head Elf position.  The moment Bernard became unfit for duty, whether it was by injury or illness, he knew that Curtis would be quick to step in and take over.  As it is, Curtis already saw him lose his cool today.

  
    It wasn't that Bernard _disliked_ Curtis.  Aside from the looming threat of Curtis taking his place somewhere down the line, and the way he constantly undermined him in front of Santa, they usually got along well enough.  Although, maybe Curtis _did_ get a gleeful twinkle in his eye whenever Bernard wasn't right about something, and Bernard could only imagine what he must be telling Santa at this very moment.  

  
    " _Ouch!_ "

  
    Allison's high-pitched squeal wrenched Bernard out of his thoughts.  What was Dr. Hismus doing?

  
    "My goodness, what a fuss," chuckled Dr. Hismus as he held up his tweezers, showing them a tiny white shard of porcelain smeared with red.

  
    Bernard looked away again and covered his mouth.  He felt sick.

  
    "There, all done.  You can return to work now, if you feel up to it."  Dr. Hismus applied a band-aid with businesslike efficiency and offered Allison a sucker.  "Sugar-free, at the Tooth Fairy's insistence."

  
    "Thanks!" She selected a red one, but tucked it into her vest pocket instead of unwrapping it.

  
    "You're very welcome.  Say, Bernard, are you okay?  You look a bit pale..."

  
    "I'm fine," Bernard said curtly, opening the door and nodding to Allison.  "After you."

  
    Allison waved to Dr. Hismus before turning to leave, and as she passed Bernard she looked up at him.  Her forehead creased a little as if in concern, but she didn't quite dare to ask him if he was _sure_ he felt okay.  Especially when he pressed his lips into a straight line and gave his head a slight shake as if warning her not to.

  
    "Bernard!" Dr. Hismus called, but the Head Elf shut the door before he could get any further.  "Stubborn..."  
   


	2. Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will get worse for Bernard before they get better. No Jack Frost yet; you'll have to wait for the next chapter! And bring some tissues, because this one's a tear jerker.

     Bernard's stomach did a sour flip-flop when he spotted Curtis, Santa, _and_ Carol in animated discussion just outside the workshop.  This wasn't the first time he had yelled at an Elf for a minor mistake, but usually his reaction wasn't _this_ extreme, and the last time he'd really taken that tone with anyone was when the current Santa, then called 'Scott Calvin', first arrived at the North Pole.  

  
    At the time, Bernard was short tempered due to having only just finished yet another year's hard work, and the loss of a good friend hadn't helped his attitude.  He was used to Santas coming and going, and the Elves were accustomed to greeting the new Santa with happy faces.  When the job changed hands, a warm welcome was essential for getting things started on the right foot.

  
    Back then, Bernard had no rapport with Scott at all, and no matter how hard he tried to explain the new reality to this human, it just wasn't sinking in.  Eventually Bernard had lost his temper and shouted, " _Try_ to _understand_ this!"  Not the best way to greet the new boss man!

  
    By the next year, Bernard was still a bit stoic around the new Santa, but things had gone much more smoothly, and it just got better from there.  Santa's son, Charlie, brought new ideas from the target audience's perspective into the workshop, and even Bernard had to admit that he was impressed.  His legendary temper remained, however, and even though Santa had asked him to go a bit easier on the Elves, he still slipped up occasionally.

  
    Like today, for example.  Allison was all smiles now, but depending on what Curtis told Santa, Bernard could be in for a lecture.  Probably a public one.  And in front of _Mrs. Claus_ , too!  It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to it!  When he heard his name, however, it didn't sound like he was in trouble.

  
    "Where's Bernard?" Santa asked Curtis, turning his head this way and that as he tried to spot his Head Elf in the crowd of short, pointy-eared workers.  And, since Bernard was taller than most of them, it didn't take long.  "He should be here for this.  Bernard, there you are!  C'mon over here!"

  
     _Well, at least he seems to be in a good mood!_ His mouth stretched in a tentative grin as he jogged up the stairs, sparing Curtis a curious glance as he stopped beside him.  All around them, Elves were filing into the workshop from every direction, and now that Bernard thought about it, the place was more crowded than usual.  Allison discreetly veered off and disappeared into the crowd.  "What's up, Santa?"

  
    "I...that is, _we_ have an announcement," Santa put an arm around his wife, who beamed up at him and elbowed him lightly in the gut.

  
    "Subtle as always, Scott!"

  
    "And we couldn't start without ya!" Santa led the way back inside, confident that Bernard and Curtis would follow without his prompting.

  
    Curtis watch them go with a smirk before turning to Bernard.  "I'll bet you a dozen candy canes they're having a baby."

  
    "Hm, and what does the _Handbook_ say about gambling, Curtis?"

  
    "Nothing at all.  It's fair game.  Well, so to speak.  _You_ just don't want to take that bet because you know I'm right!" boasted Curtis, dusting off his shoulders and swaggering into the building.

  
    Bernard rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered, "Give me strength."  He followed Curtis, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops as he found a place to stand.  He wasn't about to admit as much to Curtis, but he had the same idea.  Several of the previous Santas had been fathers before taking on the mantle, but if Carol _was_ pregnant, this would be the first human child born at the North Pole!

  
    "Everyone!"  Santa raised his hands for silence, but so many Elves were talking at once that very few actually heard him.  "May I have your attention, please!  Um..."

  
    Bernard stuck his thumb and forefinger into his mouth and whistled loudly.  _FWEEEEEET!_ The noise immediately stopped, as if he had flipped a switch.  

  
    Curtis winced, digging a finger into his ear, and Santa hunched his shoulders.  

  
    "Thanks, Bernard.  Okay, now that I have everyone's attention, Mrs. Claus and I have some pretty big news.  As you know, Carol hasn't been feeling very well.  Some of you were worried.  I'm sure you'll be glad to know that nothing is wrong with her." Santa paused for effect, and the Elves murmured among themselves in relief.  "That is, nothing that won't resolve itself in seven months.  We're having a baby!"

  
    The Elves gasped and began to cheer, crowding around the happy parents-to-be, and Curtis gave a victorious fist pump.  "I knew it!  You owe me a dozen candy canes, Bernie!"

  
    Bernard's joyful smile grew tense, and he hissed through his teeth, "I do _not_ , because I didn't take that bet, and what did I say about calling me 'Bernie'?"

  
    "Okay, okay!" Curtis held up his hands and went to join the others in congratulating Santa and Carol, but Bernard hung back.

  
    A _baby!_   How wonderful!  And yet, now that he did the math, his heart began to pound heavily in his chest.  Seven months, that was...

  
    That meant that Carol's due date was right around the middle of _December!_ Their busiest time of year was from Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve, and they had already had a few major setbacks that year.  In fact, one of them happened that very morning with the dollhouse incident.  Thirty hand-made wooden dollhouses, now little more than kindling for the furnaces.  

  
    Bernard loved kids, of course; a Christmas Elf was required to be good with children, since many of them went out into the world to learn about what was 'in' that year so that they could duplicate it in their workshop.  A human child actually being born in the North Pole and living there full-time had never happened before, though.  There was no precedent for such an event, and no experience for them to draw on!  Even Santa, who had been a father once before, had never had to balance a new baby with _this_ job.

  
    All of this went through Bernard's mind in the space of a few seconds, and he pasted on a too-wide smile as he joined the others.

* * *

  
    If Bernard was grumpy before, the next few weeks seemed to bring out the worst in him.  He didn't make anyone else cry, thankfully, but the joke circulating throughout the workshop was that if he wasn't the Head Elf he would be right at the top of the B section of the Naughty List.  He didn't know about it, and even if he _had_ known, he wouldn't have cared.  All he cared about was keeping things running smoothly, and little things kept happening to prevent that.  

  
    One morning, the furnace that heated their water supply stopped working.  Bernard was unfortunate enough to discover this during his morning shower, and he wasn't the only one.  After a bit of investigation, they discovered that the furnace had been turned off and the controls were completely frozen, covered in a thick layer of ice.

  
    "This _should_ be impossible," Quentin said as he chiseled away at the ice.  "The furnace is _inside,_ for Pete's sake.  This has _never_ happened before.  I just don't understand it!"

  
    "How soon can you get it fixed?" Bernard stood behind him, his curly black hair damp and slightly stiff with frost from the journey from his house to the building that contained the furnace.  His clothes didn't quite match due to his having quickly thrown on the first thing within reach.  He rubbed his arms, still cold from his unwelcome drenching, and clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

  
    "Hard to say," Quentin sighed, wiping his forehead and attempting a joke.  "You could take a turn with this, you know.  Keep moving, and you'll soon warm up!"

  
    "There's too much to do in the workshop.  Just...get it done before Mrs. Claus finds out there's no hot--"

  
    They both winced at the loud shriek of " _SCOTT!!!_ "

  
    "--water."

  
    "I'll get it working as soon as I can.  The last thing I want to do is get on the bad side of a pregnant lady!"

  
    "Especially not _that_ pregnant lady..." another Elf muttered, earning a withering glare from Bernard.

  
    "Watch your mouth.  And get back to work!" snapped Bernard before turning on his heel and hurrying out to give the Clauses a progress report.  On the way, he fished bottle of Aspirin from the pouch he wore at his side and dry-swallowed one of the pills.  His head _ached_.

  
    Santa and Carol took the news about the furnace well enough, and the three of them toured the workshop to see how things were coming along.  Bernard didn't say much as they walked, and Carol was the first to notice that he wasn't quite himself.  She stopped him by putting a hand on his arm, and tilted her head in concern.

  
    "Bernard, are you feeling okay?"

  
    "Of course," he answered promptly, trying to force a smile, but it looked more like a grimace.  He had just lied to Mrs. Claus, and it was obvious that she knew it, but it was too late to go back on it now.  "Well, I mean, getting doused with ice-cold water first thing in the morning isn't my idea of a good time, but..."

  
    "That _would_ put anyone in a bad humor, but I meant physically.  You...well..." Carol hesitated, not wanting to offend him.

  
    Santa stroked his beard and got a better look at Bernard's face.  The Elf was pale and even a little bit sweaty, which was almost unheard of due to where they were.  "Now that she mentions it, you _really_ don't look so good."

  
    "I'm _fine,_ okay?  Leave it alone!" The Elf raised his voice, and his face heated up as the other workers gave a low ' _oooooh_ '.  Yelling at his boss was disrespectful to say the least, and he only got away with it that first time because Santa hadn't even begun to hit his stride.  

  
    "No, I _won't_ leave it alone," Santa's white eyebrows lowered, but he looked worried rather than angry.  "You're my Number One Elf, and if you're not at your best I need you to _tell_ me so that we can work something out.  There's so much more work to do this year, and--"

  
    "I get it."  Bernard's heart seemed to slam against his ribcage, and he felt hot one minute and cold the next.  He knew Santa didn't mean it the way it sounded, but the way it was phrased really stung.  "That's been on my mind, too.  I've been doing this job a _lot_ longer than you've been wearing that red coat, and I know better than _anyone_ here how important this is!  Do you think I haven't noticed how far behind we are?  We've had worse years, but the timing couldn't be..."  

  
    Santa gripped Bernard's shoulders as the Elf swayed on his feet.  "Whoa, whoa, easy!  You better sit down."

  
    Bernard shook himself free and clenched his fists at his sides.  "I don't _need_ to sit down!  Mrs. Claus, I'm sorry.  I mean about the 'timing' thing, I didn't mean _that,_ but I...I..."  Bernard's eyes grew wide and staring, and if Santa hadn't been holding onto his shoulders he would have toppled over.  "I can't _see..._ "

  
    That was the last thing Bernard remembered before waking up in Dr. Hismus's office with three anxious faces hovering over him.  He squinted his eyes shut as the red-haired Elf shone a tiny flashlight into his eyes.  

  
    "Pupil response normal.  Bernard, can you hear me?"

  
    "Yes..."  Bernard rubbed his knuckles into his eyes and tried to sit up, but a gentle hand forced him back down.

  
    "Shhh,"  That was Carol.  It was her hand, then.  "Don't try to sit up yet."

  
    Bernard cautiously opened his eyes, but the bright light was gone.  In the name of Mother Nature, he felt _queasy!_ Carol was the closest now, and he felt too lousy to be embarrassed as she lightly stroked his clammy forehead.  He would never admit it, but it sort of felt nice to be mothered.  "What happened?"

  
    Santa smiled in relief and sat down on one of the nearby chairs.  "You passed out, that's what happened.  How do you feel now?"

  
    "Feel like I'm gonna hurl...well, not really," Bernard amended, seeing the alarmed look on Carol's face, "I think I will if I stand up just now, but give me a few minutes and I can get back to work."

  
    "Umm, no."  Dr. Hismus folded his arms.  "Your blood pressure is dangerously high.  You _can't_ work right now."

  
    Bernard felt the bottom drop out of his world.  It didn't feel at all like he thought it would.  He had always dreaded the day when he could no longer fulfil his duties as Head Elf, and he expected it to hurt, but what he didn't expect was the wave of cold numbness that swept over him and left him breathless.  "Don't tell me that..."

  
    "It's _temporary,_ " Dr. Hismus assured him, "Stress-induced hypertension.  You had it fifty years ago, remember?"

  
    "Yes, and I was _fine_.  You gave me some pills, and I powered through it.  You can do that again, can't you?"  Bernard hated how desperate he sounded.  In his mind's eye, he saw Curtis happily accepting the job as Head Elf and running the North Pole into the ground.  Well, _deeper_ into the ground.

  
    "I definitely will, but you won't be returning to work for at least a month."

  
    "A... _month?_   I can't afford to take off for a _month!_ " He forced himself into a sitting position and gently batting Carol's hand away, but then he felt the room give a violent tilt.  He quickly laid back again and willed his stomach to behave itself.

  
    "At _least_ a month," corrected Dr. Hismus, "You can afford that.  What you _can't_ afford is risking a stroke.  One month against possibly a lifetime...I'm truly sorry, but those are your choices."

  
    "But..."  he argued weakly, and was ashamed to feel the sting of tears in his eyes.  "But Santa, you _need_ me...don't you?"

  
    "No buts, Bernard," Santa shook his head, speaking to him the same way he used to speak to Charlie when the boy was upset.  "I want you to follow the doctor's orders, and your job _will_ be waiting for you when you're well enough.  I'm _asking_ you to do this, not as Santa, your boss, but as your _friend_.  We don't wanna lose you.  Okay?"

  
    Without a word, Bernard rolled over onto his side so that they couldn't see his face.  He squeezed his eyes shut tight against the tears that wouldn't be stifled, and he wondered for the first time in his long life if this was what it felt like to have a broken heart.

  
    "Bernard..." Carol touched his back, and she felt him begin to shudder under her hand.  "Oh, honey..."

  
    Dr. Hismus got to his feet and made eye contact with Santa before nodding towards the door.

  
    Santa got the hint and took Carol's hand.  "Let him be alone for a while."


	3. An Open Ear and an Unwelcome Presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I always seem to have trouble with beginning new chapters, and this one has been slow-going. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or plot holes. I tend to be more character-oriented than plot-oriented anyway. I also don't have a Beta, so I do the best I can. Carol wasn't my favorite person at first, but I have to admit she grew on me when she began to open up to Scott/Santa and the audience learns why she's so closed-off about Christmas. I always just got the feeling she and Bernard would get along. They can both be real grouches when they want to be, but really aren't all that bad! XD
> 
> I hope Bernard isn't out of character in this. He doesn't strike me as being the 'crybaby' type, but I think putting him on an indefinite medical leave is probably the one thing that could set him off, so please excuse His Royal Grumpiness. Also, after this there will be a time skip, because we all know what happens if we've seen the movie.

    It went against Carol's nature to just leave someone who was so obviously upset, and part of this was because Bernard was so young-looking.  Intellectually, she knew that he was hundreds of years old, capable of teleporting, and had been her husband's mentor for the first year or so before Santa got the hang of things and took over from there.  It was just hard to _remember_ that when the poor Elf was reduced to tears right in front of her, turning his back and trying to hide it like any of the teenage boys she'd seen.  

  
    Scott and Dr. Hismus both knew Bernard well enough to understand how prideful he was.  The Head Elf wouldn't open up until he was ready, and he wouldn't be ready until he'd had time to calm down.

  
    Bernard spent the rest of the day curled up on the cot in Dr. Hismus's office.  The doctor just let him rest and disturbed him as little as possible, respecting his need for space and only speaking to offer him some lunch.  The offer was rejected with a mute shake of the head, but Dr. Hismus still left him the pita sandwich he'd brought and a steaming mug of cocoa.

  
    The food went untouched, and the cocoa grew cold.  The very smell of it made Bernard feel ill, but asking for it to be taken away seemed like too much of an effort.  Bernard didn't sleep at all, but he lost a good-sized chunk of time as he zoned out, staring at the pale, mint-green walls.  Moping was shameful for an Elf of his station, and he knew it.  

  
   _No..._ former _station,_ he corrected himself, and a hot tear crossed the bridge of his nose to drip into his other eye.  Mechanically, he wiped it away, and he flinched as his knuckles touched the raw skin of his eyelids.  He had been like this all day.

  
    What was he going to do?  He had been the Head Elf for so long that the position had become more than his 'job'.  It was his entire _purpose!_ Without it, what _was_ he?  Useless.  A drain on valuable resources.  Dr. Hismus said it was temporary, but had been unable to give Bernard a definite return-to-work date, and without that to look forward to it seemed like it was a _lifetime_ away!  

  
    He always _was_ impatient.

  
    Carol visited again at around dinnertime to check on him, and to bring him a mug of cocoa and a plate of sugar cookies.  She spotted the uneaten lunch, which Dr. Hismus took away without a word to make room for the food she had brought, and pulled up one of the small chairs to sit on.  It looked like a child's chair, but it was sturdy enough to support her weight, and she debated whether or not to wake him.

  
    Bernard considered ignoring her, but his respect for the Clauses was so firmly ingrained in him that he pushed that notion away and sighed.  "I'm not sleeping."

  
    "Hey," Carol smiled as he folded his arms a little tighter across his narrow chest, still lying on his side with his back to her.  The knuckles of his left hand peeked out from under his right arm.  "I'd ask you how you're feeling, but I guess that would be a silly question."

  
    Bernard surreptitiously wiped away another tear and nearly wiped his nose, but that would have been rude.  Instead, he gave a watery snort as he sniffed back the snot, and then he grimaced.  _That_ was _also_ rude.  He couldn't remember the last time he had _really_ cried.  Getting a bit misty-eyed didn't count, in his opinion.  And as far as he was aware, he'd never spent an entire _day_ doing something as unproductive as this.  Such an idea would have been hilarious, if the reality of it wasn't so pathetic.

  
    "Have you eaten anything today?" Carol asked him, changing the subject.

  
    "I had some porridge this morning."  He frowned.  At least, he _thought_ that was what he'd had.  Maybe he was thinking of the morning before?  Yes, now he remembered.  He'd been caught without hot water that morning, and had left his house to check on the problem, forgetting to eat.  "No...wait, that's wrong.  That was yesterday."  He laughed shortly at himself, but the sound held no amusement at all.  "How did I forget that?"

  
    "Stress can do that to a person," Carol ventured, but he cut her off before she could say anything more.

  
    "Not to _me,_ it doesn't.  I work _better_ under pressure.  I see things more clearly when I'm busy, I remember _everything._   It's like that for _every_ Elf.  This doesn't make any sense!"  He clenched his fists tighter, arms still folded.  Carol reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm, and the effect was almost immediate.  The tension and anger drained from him and he sighed, accepting the comfort she was offering.  "It doesn't make sense..."

  
    "It makes sense to me.  You _lost_ something today.  It's nobody's fault this happened, but something very precious has been taken away from you, hasn't it?  And that _hurts._ "

  
    Bernard sniffled twice, sharply, and forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat.  Why was it that when people were trying to compose themselves, someone inevitably had to say the very things that would break them up even more?  

  
    Carol began to lightly rub his upper arm.  "It's okay to cry, you know...It's nothing to be ashamed of."

  
    "Y-yeah...I know, but I've been doing that all day."  His eyes drifted shut as she continued to rub his arm, lulled in a way that he hadn't been since he was an Elfling.  This wasn't so bad.  Carol would be a wonderful mother; he could tell.  His curiosity was piqued, though, as he thought about what she'd said.  "You almost sound like you've been there..."

  
    "Well...definitely not to _this_ extent.  I won't bore you with the details, though."

  
    "I don't mind." he mumbled.

  
    "I've only ever told this to Scott.  It's not that it's a secret, or anything.  I just didn't like to talk about it.  I suppose it's different now, though..." she smiled, remembering that first sleigh ride with Scott, before she found out who he really was.

  
    "Mm?" Bernard prompted softly.

  
    "Well...most adults don't believe in Santa Claus.  They usually find out 'the truth' as children.  Some children are perfectly fine with this, and move on from it without much of an issue.  Others get angry, and they take it out on the kids who still believe by telling them Santa isn't real, and that believing is for babies."

  
    This was the natural order of things, Bernard knew.  Grown-ups had to put away 'childish things', keeping up the 'illusion' for the next generation.  A part of him had always thought this was unnecessarily cruel, the way humans had to stop believing in something as fundamental as magic, but the constant turn-over _did_ keep the yearly work-load manageable.

  
    "For years, I wanted nothing to do with Christmas." she continued.

  
   _Now_ Bernard turned to face her, disbelief etched in his elfin features.  For the moment, she had shocked him right out of his tears.  Aside from that, he truly looked awful.  His cheeks were flushed and blotchy from crying, and his eyes were red.  " _You?_ "

  
    Carol nodded, leaning back to grab a tissue box and holding it out.  Someone really should have thought to leave it by the cot.  Bernard helped himself to one, but didn't use it.  His skin was irritated and sore, and what he _really_ wanted to do was splash some cold water on his face, but he was too interested in what she had to say.

  
    "Hard to believe, huh?  'Hard to believe'...that's the thing, though, isn't it?"  Carol then offered him the pewter mug of cocoa, which he took and sipped from without a second thought.  "You see, Christmas was the only time of year when my parents didn't fight.  It was the _one_ magical day I could look forward to throughout the year, no matter how nasty their fights could get.  Amazingly enough, they're still together...I think time might have mellowed them out a little.  And, well...one day, I came home with a bloody nose."

  
    "What happened?"

  
    "I got into a fight with another kid about whether or not Santa was actually _real._   Me saying he was, her insisting that he wasn't.  And that's when my parents decided to sit me down and tell me 'the truth'.  It felt like...like someone had reached into my chest and replaced my heart with a chunk of _ice._   I was cold and sick at the same time.  All those years, my parents had _lied_ to me.  The 'nice' act was just _that_...an _act._   Santa Claus...the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, _all_ of it was fake."

  
    Bernard regarded her with sad, brown eyes.  This was an old story, told with many variations by the former children of the world.  Carol was right; some of them _were_ okay with it.  But others were devastated by it, as Carol had been.  Something precious _had_ been taken away from her.  Only, it really _hadn't_ been.  Not for good, anyway.  Scott.. _.Santa_...had given it back to her.  "But it _isn't_ fake..."

  
    "I know.  I know that _now,_ of course.  I married Santa.  _I'm_ Mrs. Clause.  Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Mother Nature, Father Time, Sandman...they're _all_ real, and they're all my friends now.  Before, if someone had told me this would happen, I probably would have rolled my eyes and said something snarky.  I would have been playing along, thinking they were joking."  She nudged the plate of cookies closer to him.

  
    Bernard glanced at the cookies, part of him wanting to take one, but he didn't just yet.  Instead, he set down his half-finished mug of cocoa and said hoarsely, "I'm sorry that happened to you, Mrs. Claus.  But...what does that have to do with this?"

  
    "I was able to believe in Santa again...and you'll be able to go back to work again.  I thought I'd lost something.  And I never thought I'd get it back.  I was at a point where I didn't even want to consider it.  But...I _did_ get it back, and so much more besides.  If things hadn't gone the way they did, I might not have been in a position to fall in love with Scott.  And I wouldn't have met _you,_ right?" She smiled at her friend, but her smile faded when he lowered his eyes and dabbed at them with his tissue.  His lip quivered a bit, and she could tell that he was close to losing it again.  "Bernard...this _won't_ be forever.  I guess it's all you've known for a long time, huh?"

  
    "You have no idea..." Bernard met her gaze again.  Anger shone in his dark eyes, though it wasn't directed at her.  "This isn't just a _job,_ Mrs. Claus.  It's _everything._   It's what I _do,_ it's who I _am._   Without it, I'm...I'm just an overgrown Elf who has to watch that...that smug little _bookworm_ take his place!"

  
    "Bernard, you're _so_ much more than your work.  You're our _friend._   You're a good person, and we _love_ you.  And _no one_ is taking your place.  Curtis tried to turn it down when--"

  
    " _Sure_ he did... _one_ magnanimous refusal, followed by an 'Okay, I'll do it'.  He's been after my job for _years,_ and if I--Mmph!"  Bernard grew wide-eyed as Carol put her hand over his mouth, incredulous that she would dare, but too astonished to be angry at her for it.

  
    "He's _still_ refusing, Bernard."

  
    Bernard's heavy eyebrow's lowered, and he shook his head as he glared at her over the top of her hand.  "Mm- _mmm!_ "

  
    "He _is._   He wants to talk to _you_ before he agrees to do it.  I'm going to take my hand off your mouth now.  Are you going to yell?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

  
    Bernard could have easily pulled away, but he didn't.  She had been kind to him, despite how stubbornly he refused to be cheered up by anything, and the least he could do was hear her out.  "Mm-mmm..."

  
    "Okay," she removed her hand.  When he kept his word and stared sadly at the cot instead of launching into a tirade, she sighed.  "I know you're hurt right now, and angry."

  
    He eyed her dully, picking at the rough hospital blanket beneath him.  "But?"

  
    "No, that was it.  You feel what you feel, and you have every right to it."

  
    The Elf finally cracked a little half-smile.  It was nice to be validated, but this corniness couldn't go unpunished.  "Neil's a bad influence."

  
    Carol laughed.  "Just eat your cookies."

  
    Bernard shook his head in resignation, picked up a cookie, and nibbled it.  He expected it to taste like sand in reflection of his mood; with the colored red and green sugar that speckled the top of it, the texture _was_ a bit like sand.  But the cookie was crisp and sweet, and his empty stomach immediately gave an audible rumble.  "Oh, pardon."

  
    "That's okay."  

  
    He ate in silence until nothing but crumbs remained on the plate, then raked a hand through his curls and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot and wishing he hadn't been so open about this.  Mrs. Clause was expecting a _baby,_ and he himself was over a thousand years old!  She didn't need the added stress, and he was _more_ than old enough to know better.  He wasn't sure if it was the refreshments or her concern that had shaken him out of his funk somewhat, but he finally felt a little bit more like himself again.  "I'll talk to Curtis tomorrow, if he insists on it, but please tell him _I_ said to take the job.  Dr. Hismus is pretty adamant about this, and the work needs to be done, even if I can't...can't do it.  Okay?"

  
    Carol wondered if it would be better for Bernard to tell Curtis himself.  Maybe he wouldn't resent the younger Elf so much when he saw how reluctant Curtis was to take the job under these circumstances.  

  
    Bernard didn't have to be a mind-reader to understand what she was thinking; he was pretty good at reading faces.  "Trust me, if I don't cool down before I talk to him, it will _not_ end well.  I'm supposed to _avoid_ things that will jack up my blood pressure; doctor's orders."  He twirled his finger in a 'whoop-dee-doo' motion and rolled his eyes.

  
    "Okay," Carol had to smile at that; sarcasm was a good sign.  She got up from her chair and sat down beside him on the cot.  "Speaking of which, Dr. Hismus told me before I came in that you can go home whenever you feel up to it.  He just wants to give you a few things first."

  
    "Pills, instructions, and a sickeningly chipper platitude?" Bernard rested his chin on his fists.

  
    Carol ticked off her answers on her fingers as she gave them.  "Yes, probably, and how did you guess?"

  
    "I've known him since long before your great-grandparents several times over were even _born._ Ya get to know a person."  He remained where he was, reluctant to leave the sheltering confines of the clinic.  How many of the Elves had seen him faint?  How many had seen him being carried to the clinic by (presumably) Santa himself?  How embarrassing.

  
    Bernard wasn't the only one who was good at reading faces.  Carol put an arm around him and gave his shoulder a comforting pat.  "Tell you what.  Why don't you go wash your face, and we can get out of here?"

  
    He touched his face, and his cheeks felt hot beneath his fingertips.  He gave her a wry look and asked rhetorically, "How bad do I look?"

  
    "You don't look a day over a thousand." she smirked.

  
    Bernard snorted as he got up to do as he was told.  "Wisenheimer..."

  
    He splashed cold water on his face, shivering a little as it soaked into the collar of his shirt, and accepted the paper towel she held out.  He patted his face dry and threw away the towel, then retrieved his beret from a nearby hook and put it on.  

  
    "Ready?"

  
    He wasn't.  "Yeah."

* * *

  
    Bernard did _not_ go straight home.  After he and Mrs. Claus parted ways, with many assurances on his part that he would be just fine after a good night's sleep, he teleported up to the surface and stood right near where where the Pole emerged from Elfburg's icy canopy.  

  
    He tucked his bare hands into his armpits, wishing he'd bothered to bring his gloves, and stared up at the shifting green lights of the Aurora Borealis.  It wasn't a sight he got to see very often, being so busy.  Now, he supposed, he would have _plenty_ of time for the leisure activities he kept on the back burner.  And he had zero desire to do _any_ of them.

  
     _It's only temporary,_ he reminded himself.  It didn't help.  Mrs. Claus's talk had helped somewhat, and he was grateful, but it could only go so far.  Come to think of it, he never did thank her properly; he had forgotten.  Two things forgotten in one day.  Trivial things, but even so!  He would have to remember to thank her later, and--

  
    "Aww, Bernie, why so _blue?_ " crooned a male voice, dripping with false pity.

  
    Bernard _jumped!_   He whirled around to face the stranger who had managed to sneak up on him, and scowled when he saw that this was no stranger.  "I'm not in the _mood,_ Frost."

  
    A slim, pale man stood several feet away.  At first glance, he resembled a bizarre cross between an Elf, with his pointed ears, and a middle-aged human.  However, with his icy spikes of white hair and dark eyebrows rimed with hoarfrost, he didn't truly resemble either.  He wore a dark blue suit, which was frosted pale at the shoulders and upper back, and he looked for all the world like he had just stepped out of an iceberg.  

  
    It was Jack Frost himself.  He spread his hands in a wide playful shrug and smiled innocently.  " _What?_   I'm concerned.  Can't I inquire about the welfare of a friend?"

  
    "We were never 'friends', and after the stunt you pulled three months ago, I'm surprised you have the nerve to show your face here."  Bernard turned back to watching the Northern Lights, trying to signal that the conversation was over.

  
    Jack sat down cross-legged in the snow, as if the cold didn't bother him at all.  Which, of course, it didn't.  After all, what was snow to a Winter Sprite?  "You always _were_ a party pooper, Bernie.  It was just a harmless prank.  It was _funny!_ "

  
    So much for dropping hints.  Bernard looked at Jack in disgust.  " _Harmless?_   Turning the workshop into an _ice rink_ isn't harmless; not when it results in five sprained ankles and three broken arms!  We were eight workers short for _weeks_ because of you!  And I told you before; _don't_ call me 'Bernie'!"

  
    "Please, they're _all_ short!  I merely thought that you people would be _used_ to a little bit of ice, given the fact that you _live at the North Pole!_ I thought they could use a diversion, as hard as you make them work!  An unplanned vacation is still a vacation, amiright?  Anyway, what's got _you_ in such a snit today?"  

  
    "None of your business!"  Blood began to pound in Bernard's pointed ears, and he walked off a few paces and took several deep breaths to calm himself.  'Unplanned vacation'...Jack had touched a nerve with that one!  Because he was facing away from Jack, he didn't see the Sprite's face briefly twist into a vindictive sneer.

  
    The expression quickly disappeared and Jack stood up again, brushing snow from the seat of his pants.  "Come on, what's wrong?"

  
    " _Nothing,_ now would you just go _away?_ "

  
    "Hm..." Jack smirked and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket.  "I'd hoped my little prank from early this morning would have helped you to cool off, but I guess not."

  
    Bernard turned and slowly pointed an accusing finger.  "You froze the furnace, didn't you?"

  
    "Ha- _ha!_   Guilty as charged!  No one suspected a thing, did they?"

  
     _Don't get angry.  Don't get angry.  Don't get angry._

  
    Too late.

  
    Bernard's cheeks burned cherry-red as he stalked furiously towards Jack, heedless of the danger.  And there _was_ danger; Jack wasn't there to mince words.  Well, not _just_ to mince words.  Bernard got in Jack's face, and the Sprite reared his head back as the Elf verbally tore into him.  "Do you realize what you could have _done?_   If that furnace had exploded, it could have _killed_ someone!"

  
    Jack put a hand on Bernard's shoulder and forced him to step back.  "I turned it _off_ first.  And just for the record, cocoa breath doesn't smell as good as one might think.  More of a sour-milky kind of smell, to be quite frank, and--"  Jack glared as Bernard slapped his hand away.

  
    " _Why_ would you do that?" Bernard demanded.

  
    "I was testing the waters, so to speak.  Tell me, did anyone even mention my name down there?  Probably not.  No one ever gives me the proper credit.  Least of all _you_ ingrates, who wouldn't even _have_ the polar ice caps if it wasn't for me!"

  
    "Which are _melting,_ because you're too busy goofing off elsewhere!" Bernard threw up his hands and turned away.  He tried to teleport back underground to report Jack's actions to Santa, but was alarmed to realize that he _couldn't._   His mood was too erratic and unfocused, his health too poor.  _Why now?_

  
"It's called 'Global Warming', genius.  I've seen at _least_ five major ice ages, and you wouldn't believe how hot it gets in between.  Ask Mother Nature the next time you see her, she'll tell you.  It's a _thing._ "

  
    Bernard didn't answer.  Instead he stooped briefly and fiddled with something beneath the snow.  The next moment, the North Pole slowly began to rise.  If Bernard couldn't teleport, he would just have to go underground the hard way and hope that Jack was too focused on his little speech to care.

  
    No such luck.  Before Bernard was able to press the button that would extend the keypad and allow him to type in the entry code, Jack grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back so roughly that landed butt-first in a snowdrift.  Comprehension dawned, and Bernard threw up a hand as if to ward off a blow.  "Jack, _don't!_ "

  
    "I really think you need to _chill._ "  Jack replied, his voice positively glacial.  He sucked in a deep breath, his face turning blue as he called upon the magic of his element, and he froze Bernard in mid-scream.  A gale-force wind surged and swirled around them, snatching up greedy handfuls of snow, and in less than five minutes Bernard was completely hidden from view.  Still alive, but unable to move, or react, or even perceive.  Oblivion was his.  

  
    Jack placed his hands on his hips, assessing his work with a satisfied smile before gazing up at the Northern Lights and muttering to himself, "One threat down...one to go."


	4. Making Things Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to update! It would have been much sooner, but we had a bit of an issue. There was a robin's nest on my window sill next to my AC, and when the baby birds left the nest we found out that it was infested with bird mites. How did we find out? The little bastards came in through my AC, and since it was a holiday weekend we couldn't call the exterminator for several days. Then, when we did contact one, he couldn't come out until Thursday. The good news is, so far the bird mites all seem to be dead. I just haven't been able to write because things have been so crazy lately. Seriously, you guys do NOT want these suckers in your house! Don't let birds build nests on or right next to your house.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! There's one more chapter to come after this, and I have another story planned. That one will be much longer, and I want to try to finish a good-sized chunk of it before I begin posting it. I have a bad habit of leaving stories unfinished, and I want to avoid that if I can.

     For Bernard, there was no sense of the passage of time, nor was he aware of how dearly he was missed.  How long he lay dormant in that icy shell, hidden by a massive snow drift, he had no way of knowing.  It might have been centuries, for all he knew.  It was, in fact, six months before his blood thawed to the consistency of maple syrup and his heart gave it's first sluggish beat since Jack Frost froze him.  

  
    Several feet above the Elf's head, a scratching, shuffling sound began, but it seemed very distant, very unimportant.  His heart beat for a second time, a little stronger now, and he had his first coherent thought.  _Cold..._

  
    The scratching was closer now, and it was beginning to annoy him.  _So cold...just let me go back to sleep..._

  
    But there was something he was supposed to be doing right now.  Wasn't there?  Bernard tried to move, heard a crackling noise like that of splintering ice, but he couldn't get his limbs to respond.  He realized when he tried to draw breath that a heavy weight rested on him, pinning him so tightly that he couldn't even twitch a finger.  Well, it didn't matter.  Soon he would be asleep again, and _nothing_ would matter.

  
     _No..._

  
    Bernard's heart stuttered before finding a slow rhythm, and his lungs began to burn for oxygen.  In the freezing darkness of his arctic prison, one thought niggled at the back of his mind; there was _something_ he had to do.  He was needed somewhere.  More cracking sounds, and he found himself with a mouthful of snow.  But it wasn't snow that he needed.  It was _air._

  
    The severity of his situation dawned on him, and his discomfort turned into panic.  _I'm buried!_

  
    As if on cue, an unseen hand scraped the snow away from his face and pushed mounds of it off his chest, and he choked as he tried to clear his airway.  

  
    "Come on..." gasped a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, and the hand roughly tapped his cheek.  If he wasn't so numb from the cold, it would have hurt.  "Spit it out.  _Breathe,_ will you?"

  
    Bernard spat, gagged, then drew a long, whooping breath and began to cough.  Now that he was thawed, he _really_ felt the cold, and he shivered violently as the stranger scooped off the rest of the snow, freeing his limbs and finally allowing him to move.  "Th-thanks...Who are you?"

  
    "We'll just save the Q and A for later, shall we?  Drink this."  

  
    The lip of a thermos was pressed to Bernard's mouth, and even though the cocoa was bordering on lukewarm it burned his tongue.  Instead of pushing the thermos away, he gripped it clumsily with his half-frozen hands and gulped it down, groaning in relief as warmth pooled in his stomach and dispersed into his limbs.  

  
    The thermos was snatched away again, much to Bernard's displeasure, and the voice seemed amused as it cautioned, "Slow down, Bernie.  You want it coming back up again?"

  
    Bernard _knew_ he'd heard that voice before.  He blinked hard, and his surroundings swam into focus.  The Winter Sprite who froze him now knelt beside him in the snow, holding the thermos just out of reach, but he looked nothing like he did the last time Bernard had met him.  He had apparently traded his dark blue suit for a white one, and he now sported light brown hair, combed flat and parted on the side.

  
    Bernard didn't trust this new clean-cut look for a second.  "J-J-Jack F-Frost."  The Elf bit out angrily, but the effect was spoiled by his shivering, and he blew into his hands before rubbing his numbed lips to get some feeling back into them.  The cocoa had helped there, but now he wondered if he should try to _make_ his body reject it.  If Jack was being nice to him now, it _had_ to be a trick.

  
    "The one and only."  Jack tried to put on a proud grin, but he couldn't maintain it for long.  "Here.  Finish this, _slowly._   It'll warm you up."

  
    "First you freeze me, then you bury me.  What, are you trying to _poison me_ now?"

  
    "No!  It's just _cocoa._   Listen, I can explain--" Jack began, but unsurprisingly Bernard cut him off.

  
    " _Save it._ " Bernard struggled to his feet and vigorously rubbed his arms to get some feeling back into them, gazing around to get his bearings.  

  
    Jack stood up, just accepting this treatment.  He _knew_ he deserved it, and so much worse.  "I think what you're looking for is over there," he pointed the Pole, then pushed the thermos into Bernard's hands.  Even if the Elf refused to drink the rest of it, the heat from the container would still help.  

  
    Bernard reflexively took the thermos, then made a wide circuit around Jack.  His eyes were wary and more than a little fearful.  "If you hurt anybody down there..."  Mrs. Claus's face surfaced in his mind's eye, and Bernard's heart began to pound when he remembered the baby in her womb.  How much time had passed?  "What's the date?"

  
    Jack Frost rolled his eyes and stalked past Bernard to key in the code.  Then he grabbed Bernard by the elbow and half-led, half-dragged him onto the platform as it began to lower.

  
    "Drink your cocoa.  You need the warmth, and that isn't my element.  It's just hot chocolate; no poison."  Jack's voice had almost no inflection, and he folded his arms as he stood with his back to Bernard.  He wasn't used to having a conscience, and it was poking him hard.

  
    Bernard pressed his lips into an annoyed line, then huffed softly through his nose.  He sniffed at the contents of the thermos, then tentatively took a sip.  Then, feeling silly, he drank half of what remained.  What was the point of being cautious if he'd already had some?

  
    "It's December twenty-fourth.  You've been out there for six months.  Oh, sorry." This last was because Bernard had choked on his cocoa out of surprise.  "You might have noticed that the place is pretty deserted.  It's because most of the Elves are waiting near the Elfirmary for an update."

  
    "Update?" Bernard's eyes were huge as he tried to wrap his mind around what he was hearing.

  
    "Mrs. Claus is in labor, you see.  You have quite a bit to catch up on."

  
    Bernard gripped the thermos so tightly that his knuckles turned white.  If he wasn't so furious to have missed out on so much while he was frozen he would have noticed that his anger didn't trigger a headache like it had before.  "Well, whose fault is _that?_ "

  
    Jack did a double-take when Bernard power-walked off in the general direction of the Elfirmary without looking back, then snorted twin jets of icy vapor through his nostrils as he whisked indignantly after the Elf.  He did a half-way passable imitation of Bernard's voice.  "'Wow, thanks for digging me out of the snow, Jack!  I didn't even know an unfreezing was possible!  I'm doing just fine now.  Thanks for the cocoa!  By the way, why do you look like Martin Short?'  Those are your lines, Bernard."

  
    The Elf didn't rise to the bait this time.  _Six months!_ Time enough for Mrs. Claus to carry her child to term, and he didn't even thank her for helping him!  Time enough for Jack Frost to change his appearance, and apparently his mindset, but Bernard was understandably wary.  His conversation with Curtis about temporarily taking over as Head Elf never took place.  As far as Santa and the Elves knew, Bernard had just picked up and left.  They probably thought he was _dead,_ and up until a few minutes ago they wouldn't have been far off the mark.  And what about Christmas?  Had they finished their quota on time?  How many children would wake up on Christmas morning and find _nothing_ underneath their Christmas trees?

  
    Jack Frost fell into step beside Bernard, but didn't try to stop him.  "They won't be expecting you.  Why don't I go on ahead and let them know you're coming?"

  
    Bernard held back from lobbing the cocoa thermos at Jack's head, and got another look at Jack's changed appearance as they walked.  Something was definitely weird here!  "That might not be a bad idea, but why would you care?  What's in it for _you,_ Frost?"

  
    Instead of answering Bernard's questions, Jack added, "Also, Santa's in-laws are here, along with his ex-wife and _her_ family, so don't be surprised when you see them."

  
    Bernard's eyes widened in something akin to fear.  "But what about the SOS?"

  
    Jack Frost merely grinned and ran off in the direction of the Elfirmary, much to Bernard's dismay.  

  
    The Elf ran after him as best he could, but his limp proved to be a hindrance.  It was only obvious when he tried to go more quickly than a fast walk, but the cold had aggravated it, and Jack quickly outdistanced him.  " _Reindeer droppings!_ " he swore as he paused to catch his breath.  There was no way he would be able to catch up, and he preferred not to arrive out of breath.

* * *

    Bernard need not have worried.  No sooner had he arrived at the Elfirmary than he found himself surrounded on all sides by laughing, chattering Elves who were jumping up and down and asking so many questions so quickly that he couldn't make out any of them.  Somewhere at the edge of the crowd he spotted Jack Frost, who was leaning against one of the building's red support columns.  The Sprite was talking to Curtis, of all people.

  
    "Okay, could you just--" Bernard began, but the air whooshed out of his lungs as he found himself in the middle of a group hug, of all things.  What was _wrong_ with everybody?!  "Time out!  Hey, watch what you're...That was my foot!"

  
     _Fweeeet!_

  
    The Elves immediately let go of Bernard and backed off a little when the piercing whistle sliced through the air.  Bernard stared in disbelief as Curtis lowered his hand.  Was that _Curtis_ who whistled?  And when did he get so tall?

  
    Then Bernard remembered something important.  Even the youngest-looking Elf in Santa's employ was an adult, but the position of 'Head Elf' was a special one.  When an Elf has been Head Elf for long enough, his or her physical appearance began to change as they 'aged up'.  It wasn't exactly a clause; more of an outward sign that this was an Elf to be obeyed.  The effect was permanent, and would remain long after the Elf stepped down, if he or she didn't pass away due to an accident on the job.  This was, thankfully, a rare occurrence..  Curtis had been the Head Elf for six months; more than long enough for those changes to take place.  Bernard felt his heart _sink._   It really _was_ over for him, then.

  
    Curtis started forward, and the crowd parted to let him through.  Before long, he stood face to face with his former superior, and his expression was completely unreadable.

   
    Bernard nodded stiffly.  "Curtis."

  
    Curtis returned the nod.  "Bernard."

  
    The moment dragged out just long enough to become awkward, and then Curtis broke into a wide grin.  "Silver _bells,_ you don't know how good it is to see you!  We thought you were _dead_.  We searched for _months,_ and all this time you were right above our heads!"

  
    Bernard chewed the inside of his cheek, hiding his dismay as best he could.  "Yes, well...you certainly seem to have come into your own.  The first year is the true test, and you've only had six months.  Were you able to make quota this year?"

  
    Curtis's smile faltered, and he looked less like the Head Elf and more like the Keeper of the Handbook.  More specifically, he looked like he did some idea of his backfired.  That business with Toy Santa was a prime example of this, and Bernard looked from him to where Jack Frost had been standing, but Jack was no longer there.  At some point, the Winter Sprite had discreetly made his exit.  

  
    "We made our quota, yes.  With a little help from our friends."

  
    Curtis pointed with his chin, and Bernard turned.  The entire Council of Legendary figures was there, minus Jack Frost, and how Bernard didn't notice them standing there was beyond him.  Standing among them were several humans; an older couple, whom Bernard didn't recognize, Laura, Neil, Lucy, and Charlie.

  
    There was a loud shriek, and all eyes focused on the closed doors of the Elfirmary.  Good lord, was that Mrs. Claus?  "Why is she screaming?" Bernard asked before realizing how stupid the question was.

  
    The older woman, whom Bernard would later learn was Carol Claus's mother, fixed him with a scornful look and said, "She's _conscious_."

  
    Curtis nudged Bernard and gestured for him to follow, then walked past him.

  
    "Wh--" Bernard stammered, then closed his mouth in a thin, sharp line of annoyance.  He marched after Curtis, his cheeks burning.  He knew this wasn't the time or place for it, but he was _angry._   He was supposed to return to his duties after a month, if all went well, and instead he'd cooled his heels, quite literally, for the past _six_ months.  Meanwhile, Curtis had _his_ job!  It just wasn't fair.

  
    As soon as they were alone, or at least far enough away from the group not to be overheard, Bernard placed his hands on his hips, only to find that Curtis had done the exact same thing at the exact same time.  Was this a trait that came with being the Head Elf?  Bernard couldn't even remember.  "All right, Curtis.  What did you want to talk about?"

  
    "Well, first off, I want to say I'm sorry.  I _did_ want to be the Head Elf someday.  Someday later.  _Much_ later.  And I didn't want to take it from you.  I didn't want it to happen this way."

  
    Bernard drew in a long, measured breath, and let it out.  This wasn't going to be easy for him to say.  "Well, it did.  And...you seem to have...done very well."

  
    Curtis pushed his glasses higher up onto his nose with a forefinger.  "Did anyone ever tell you that when you're trying to choke out a compliment, you talk like William Shatner?"

  
    "Who?  Oh, right.  Captain Kirk, from Star Trek." Bernard rolled his eyes.  "Just...don't apologize, and don't _pity_ me, okay?  The job needed to be done, and you did it."

  
    "Yeah..." Curtis folded his arms and looked down for a moment.  "Well, it _is_ good to have you back.  Because, let me tell ya, I had _no_ idea how much pressure you were under until I had to do it myself.  It's _great,_ don't get me wrong, but it's harder than I'd ever imagined, and I'm not too proud to admit it."

  
    "Okay?" Bernard slowly shook his head, obviously confused.  "I...thanks.  But where does this leave us now?"

  
    Curtis grinned.  "See, I had a thought.  We don't currently have a Keeper of the Handbook--"

  
    Bernard thought he saw where this was going, and he waved his hands in a broad gesture of negation.  "Nope.  Nope.  _No._ "  It was bad enough to be displaced, but it was another thing entirely to be demoted!

  
    "--so, I thought we could go back to our former jobs, and I could be available to step in if you ever needed to take off again." Curtis finished, not in the least bit intimidated by Bernard's angry posturing.

  
    "I...what?"

  
    Bernard's expression of hopeful disbelief was so comical that Curtis actually chuckled.  "You heard me.  No one wanted to take my old job, and no matter what you think, we still need one.  Once Dr. Hismus gives you the O.K., we can get back to doing what we do best; annoying the living _daylights_ out of each other.  What do you think?"

  
   _I think I need to sit down!_ Bernard started to say that he thought it could work, but he was cut off by loud cheering from the Elves surrounding the Elfirmary.  

  
    Curtis cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "What is it?!"

  
    "It's a boy!" chorused several voices at once.

  
    "Hah!" Curtis pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and unfolded it.  "Everyone on this list owes me a bushel of candy canes!"

  
    Bernard rolled his eyes, but the joy he felt for Santa and Carol overshadowed his mild annoyance with Curtis.  And, though he wouldn't admit as much out loud, he really was glad to see the annoying little...well, not-so-little-anymore...upstart again.  "You're gonna turn _into_ a candy cane!  Come on, I want to be ready to congratulate them as soon as they're ready for visitors."


	5. Ending at a Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it! I actually wrote this story so that my next story would make sense. We all know that Bernard is great with kids, but seeing the same kid every day would probably cause him to form more of a quasi-parental attachment to Buddy. Santa and Carol's decision only seemed right. Thanks for coming along for the ride!

     Four years ago, there was a time when Santa needed to leave the North Pole in order to find a wife, otherwise he would have gone back to being Scott Calvin.  Bernard had put a hand on his shoulder and said, "What's the most _important_ thing?"  The answer was, "For you to come back!", but Santa's response had been to give Bernard a warning look and to say, "For you not to touch Santa?".

  
    Admittedly, for Bernard to openly show any kind of affection was unusual, and more than a little bit odd, so the boss could hardly be blamed for being a little creeped out.

  
    It seemed that this was in the past.  When Santa emerged from the Elfirmary, the first thing he did was grip Bernard's shoulders in an almost bone-splintering hold, then he pulled him into a tight man-hug and patted him roughly on the back.  Now Bernard could understand why Santa had felt so awkward four years ago!

  
    Bernard thought his eyes were going to pop out of his sockets and bounce down the Elfirmary's ramp like a pair of SuperBalls.  "Ooh!  No hugging, no hugging!  Can't breathe!"

  
    Santa quickly ended the hug, but kept his hands on the Elf's shoulders.  "I _knew_ you wouldn't just leave!"

  
    "No," gasped Bernard, grinning in spite of himself.  "Not without giving my notice, and I plan on sticking around for a _long_ time."

  
    "Glad to hear it!" Santa's blue eyes twinkled.

  
    Curtis cleared his throat and interrupted, "Santa, it's nearly midnight.  It's time to go."

  
    Christmas.  Right.  Santa nodded and pointed over his shoulder with a thumb.  "Carol's been asking for ya.  The whole family's seen the baby already.  You _have_ to see him.  He looks just like her."

  
    Bernard desperately wanted to see the new baby, but he knew from what he'd heard in the past and from Carol's screams that childbirth was quite an ordeal.  She was sure to be exhausted!  "I don't want to intrude, sir."

  
    Santa fixed Bernard with a mock glare.  "Bernard, you get in there, and you say hello to your new godson.  That's an order."

  
    "G-godson?" Bernard blinked.

  
    "If you'll accept it," Santa smiled, then grew serious again when Curtis caught his eye and urgently gestured towards the reindeer stables.  "Just think about it.  I have to go."

  
    The Elf gave a dazed nod as Santa passed him.  _Godson!_

  
    Santa stopped at the bottom of the ramp and turned back.  "Hey, Bernard!"

  
    Bernard snapped out of it and looked back.  "Yes?"

  
    "It's good to have you back."

  
    "It's good to _be_ back, Santa." Bernard smirked back before pointing imperiously towards the stables.  "Now, get a move on!  You're three minutes behind schedule!"

  
    Father Time leaned on his staff and smugly intoned, "Three minutes, twenty-five seconds.  Twenty-six.  Twenty-seven..."

  
    Most of the Elves hurried off with Santa to watch his departure, but Bernard turned and hesitantly approached the Elfirmary, knocking twice.

  
    Dr. Hismus opened the door a crack, then stood aside to let him in.  "I'll need to take your blood pressure very soon, and run a few other tests to see how you are after being frozen for so long.  How do you feel, Bernard?  The truth, please."

  
    Bernard barely heard him.  The tiny Elfirmary was filled with people; Carol's parents, Neil, Laura, Charlie, and Lucy.  So many humans in such a tiny room!  And, at the very center of it all, was Carol.  "Hm?  Oh...yeah, I'm good."

  
    Carol's blonde hair was damp with perspiration, and a few strands of it clung to her forehead, but as exhausted as she looked, she was smiling.  The bundle in her arms was mostly hidden by a red blanket with green trim.  As soon as she heard Bernard speak, she turned her head and fairly beamed at him.  "Well... _there's_ a face I never thought I'd see again."

  
    "I...I can explain," Bernard began, and the Carol's father cut him off.

  
    "This that Bernard fellow everyone's been talking about?  Where's he been all this time, if he's so important?"

  
    "Dad..."

  
    "Bud, if you'd just _listen_ once in a while, you'd know.  They were all _talking_ about it outside." chided the woman with the red-dyed hair.  "Jack Frost froze him six months ago, and he must have thawed out again when Lucy's parents did.  It's nice to meet you, dear."

  
    Bernard's smile because very plastic and forced, and he very nearly said, _'Dear?'  Lady, I was working for Santa when you were still jumping back and forth between the Naughty List and the Nice List._   Instead, he merely gave her a polite nod and approached Mrs. Claus's bed.  Lucy smiled at him as he passed her, and he smiled back.  Here was a child who was _never_ on the Naughty List.  Sweet kid, just like her older half-brother, Charlie.  Bernard tilted his head to look at the baby, but from that angle the blanket obscured its tiny face.

  
    Carol moved the blanket to let Bernard see.  "You don't have to explain anything, Bernard.  Would you like to hold him?  Everyone else has had a turn."

  
    Sylvia chimed in, "Wash your hands first, of course.  We don't want to give him any of our germs, do we?"

  
    Well, of _course_ Bernard would wash his hands!  He'd held babies before!  Of course, they were _Elf_ babies, the children of his employees and friends.  And how dissimilar were Elf babies and human babies, really?  Except for the fact that one had pointed ears and silver specks on its cheeks, and the other had rounded ears and no silver specks, they were virtually the same.  Bernard caught Charlie's eye, and the young man simply shrugged as if to say 'just go with it'.  Shooting Sylvia an annoyed look, Bernard went to the sink and dutifully washed his hands.  

  
    When Bernard came back, he was a little surprised at how timid he felt.  He was used to having all eyes in the room on him, but normally he was giving orders when this happened.  When Carol carefully transferred her newborn son into Bernard's arms, however, that timid feeling melted into something powerful that Bernard had no name for just yet.  He cradled the tiny squirming form in his arms, expertly supporting the baby's neck, and got his first good look at Santa's new son.  

  
    "Careful, now!" Sylvia fretted, reaching out as if to snatch her grandson from him, but she stopped herself in time.

  
    Bernard didn't have it in him to be indignant anymore.  Instead of giving her a snarky retort, he raised an eyebrow.  "It's all right, Mrs. Newman.  I've got him."

  
    The newborn stared fixedly at the Elf, trying to focus his cloudy blue eyes, and when Bernard stroked the back of his hand with a forefinger he reflexively grabbed onto it.

  
    "Well, you've got quite a grip, haven't ya, Sport?  Yeah...yeah, you do.  Heh, you know...your dad said you look just like Mrs. Claus, but I think he got it a little bit wrong.  You have your father's eyes, don't you?  Yeeees, yes you do.  Yes, you do!  Yeah..."

  
    A giggle from Carol brought Bernard back to the Elfirmary, and he blushed.  Even Sylvia smiled at him in approval.  He shrugged, keeping the action small so as not to disturb the infant and looking rather defensive.  "What?  They _lik_ e that."

  
    Bud immediately contradicted him, though he was smiling too.  "Babies that young don't like much of _anything_.  All they do is eat and sleep for the first few months."

  
    As if to make him into a liar, the baby smiled up at Bernard and cooed.

  
    "Gas," Bud said dismissively.

  
    Bernard rolled his eyes and carefully gave the baby back to his mother.  "What did you name him?"

  
    Carol rolled her eyes as well, and since Bud was standing where he couldn't see her face, she mouthed the word 'sorry' to Bernard before answering, "We named him for his grandpa, and for his godfather.  Buddy Bernard Claus."

  
     _Oh no.  Don't you cry, Bernard.  Don't you dare cry!_

  
    Bernard blinked a few times, and managed to successfully keep back the tears.  "It suits him, I think."

  
    Dr. Hismus, whom everyone had forgotten about, now spoke up.  "All right, everyone.  Mrs. Claus has had a very long night, and Bernard needs a check-up.  Judy will show you where you can stay tonight.  Thank you all for coming.  Please, watch your step, it's a bit icy--"

  
    The doctor's voice faded as he led most of the group out of the Elfirmary, and Carol reached up and put her hand on Bernard's cheek.  Instead of moving away, he put his hand over hers and gave a watery laugh.  "You really want _me_ to be the godfather?  I just...I don't know what to say!"

  
    "Well...that is, if you don't _want_ to, we could probably ask Cur--"

  
    "I will!" Bernard said so quickly that it caused them both to laugh, and the baby to startle.

  
    Little Buddy Claus immediately settled down after the first complaining whine and closed his eyes, and Dr. Hismus came back and brought over the blood pressure cuff.  Bernard immediately held out his arm, knowing the drill by now, and he scowled as the cuff squeezed his arm like a vice.

  
    Dr. Hismus frowned, and took Bernard's blood pressure a second time.  "Hm..."  He began to take it again, but Bernard pulled off the cuff with the tearing sound of Velcro.

  
    "What?" Bernard demanded.

  
    "It's just funny, that's all.  Your blood pressure isn't too high anymore.  If anything, it's a bit low, but not nearly low enough to be of any real concern.  Maybe being frozen actually _did_ something for you.  Let's have a listen to the old ticker."  He listened to Bernard's heart, but Bernard wouldn't let him listen to his lungs.  

  
    "You're not lifting up my shirt in front of my boss's wife, and that's my final word on it."

  
    "I won't peek," Carol chuckled, but Bernard adamantly refused.

  
    "No.  Now, am I cleared for work?"

  
    "Hmm..." Dr. Hismus chewed his lower lip, then nodded.  "I think it would be fine, as long as you don't overdo it.  And I _mean_ it, Bernard.  No yelling, no stomping, and practice those deep-breathing exercises I showed you.  Don't look at me like that.  It doesn't matter how it _looks;_ what matters is that it helps.  You said it _did_ help fifty years ago, didn't you?"

  
    Bernard looked at Carol as if hoping to find an ally there, but Carol busied herself with adjusting the baby's blanket.  The Elf sighed.  "All right.  Well...I better go home.  I don't even want to imagine the layers of dust I'll have to get rid of."

  
    "None," Carol informed him.  "Scott and I...we made sure your house was kept clean, just in case...well, in case you came back."

  
    Once again, Bernard was floored.  

  
    Carol misunderstood his shocked look.  "Don't worry, we didn't go through your things.  We just dropped by once a week to vacuum and dust."

  
    "Oh, no..." Bernard sounded a bit choked up.  "No, I know you wouldn't do that.  Thank you, Mrs. Claus."

  
    "You know, you _can_ call me Carol," she smiled.  "Merry Christmas, Bernard."

  
    "Merry Christmas, Carol."

  
    Bernard knew that he would never take his home, his friends, or his life for granted after this.


End file.
